le fay
by SebonzaMitsuki27
Summary: FaiSakura. AU. Breathe my love to life.
1. had i known but yesterday

_scritch_

_scratch_

sand slides. it scuppers through her fingers, like an hourglass, falling one way and sieving through the other. grains slip, delve, and trace her sinewy skin and marks her bare limbs with nothing but tiny stones, too insignificant to make an impact on her.

and so she sighs, unfurling cloying smog, and what can only be called crocodile tears slope down unblemished cheeks. it can only be called crocodile tears, because it can be nothing else. for she does not cry. she cannot cry. crying is for… humans. and she is not human. even when she wants to be.

_in_

_out_

_in_

_out._

slower, slower, shallower, shallower.

she can barely hear it now.

_i n_

_o u t _

crimson liquid dries on her other palm, which rests so lightly on _(his)_ satin silk clothes _(once so pristine and perfect and prim)_ and it's sticky to touch. she does dare not mention the silver blade, she does not notice. no, not any more. it is blind in her eyes, and what lies before her is him and his stained silk clothes. they are on their bed. they are alone. they are _(un)happy_.

lips mouth words that she cannot recognize. she will never recognize them.

his dark eyes look upon her still, heavy and hazy and adoring, and she is sure that her own parallels his. they must. they are a pair. til eternity, isn't that what the wedding vow meant?

like a minnow passing through _(she does not know what that is)_, scuttling past the net _(nor that)_, the elf _(for that is she)_, sorrowing in ebony, in ivory, in amethyst, in gold, and every colour that is made vivid via the sun's laughter and the moon's anger, and the cloud's tears that are not born from crocodiles… she senses his life force escape her completely.

his dark eyes _(wild, coal-black, loving)_ close eternally, this time.

a candle flickers; the flame does not light the ambience in the room any more, the fire does not warm her heart. like the rest of the room, without the use of it's candle, empty, she is empty. so be it, because he is gone.

yet, with choked breath, the slender elf whispers, teeth biting, head cradling, hands clutching, nails clinging, lips touching, _wake up._

_please wake up_

but of course, he does not.

_**xx**_

The answer comes to her, this mourning elf, sitting on her throne, with her ornate crowd and austere carpets, crown worn as bracelets, in the form of a fallen star. Better known as a boy who almost mirrors her own tragedy, given as a gift for the atrocity of his curse. He is human, utterly, utterly _human_ and too pretty and too pale because of it. She knows of his calamity through scouring his soul, he does not refuse her; she suspects he does not know how. To think, that his goal matches hers. Perhaps they were made for each other, a human and an elf, sharing this one thing. If not, then when he grows up, he shall be a fine tool, too enamoured in beauty and all of it's illusion.

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair, golden like honeydew; he does not resist, he complies; he watches, he waits. He does not understand, and the elf queen deems it fine to let him continue ignorant.

His eyes are much too sad and much too young, and she wonders if she erased his mind, she might spare him from this heartbreak.

She does not ask his name, he does not give it, and she is glad.

For names have power, _true_ names, at least.

And if she suggests _this one thing_, and he decides to refuse, the most he can do is bleed.

But he will not, she thinks, black tendrils resting on his yellow mop of hair, arms encasing his skinny neck, because like before, he cannot refuse. Least of all, _her._

He does not know how.

(_and his heart beats, beats, beats, like the drumming spider that slithers like a snake; echoing, echoing, echoing like the elf she once loved)_

_**xx**_

Disclaimer: TRC is not mine.


	2. what i know today

They say there is a fallen star.

A stranger among their native land.

Is it a gift or a curse? The true meaning is yet to be discerned.

The fallen star comes in the form of a boy, eyes too bright and hair too fair.

Rumour has it that he emerged from the desert, the blistering dunes and zephyrs ululating all around him.

No one knows where the boy comes from, and with the fallen star's perturbed gaze, no one ventures to ask.

High above her subjects, leaning into her balcony, relaxing in her future castle, the Princess Sakura hears the gossip in robes that she finds _much_ too heavy for her liking.

She wonders.

She waits.

_**xx**_

He sits in a broken throne that is no longer his own. He knows it is broken, though it is not yet.

People stare; their curious eyes are fixed upon him, at every angle, on every inch. They long to reach and cling and claw; to cut away his satin sheets; to see what lies underneath. Aloof, his eyes remain downcast, firm on the floor, trying not to be self-conscious. He cannot bring himself to smile, only let himself be led, aimlessly led in one direction, then another.

_there's a ghost around his neck, hung like a noose (and he misses that scent of jasmine)_

The climate is too hot and humid for his taste, and the sun kisses his skin with razor blade teeth, burning what pale flesh he has without drawing a drop of blood.

One more step is another stumble — and dizziness blurs what remains of his eyesight; a merry-go-round spinning circles of paradise eclipsed in vapour; he stops, he falters —

_twist_

_gasp_

The King sits, in his unbroken throne, and the boy swears that he has seen him before — in a portrait or a picture, a glistening of amethyst eyes, telling of untold sadness.

— there, and there _she_ is, curious, innocent, puzzled — kneeling on plumed cushions —

The girl who will change everything.

_**xx**_

_oh, my dear, my dear, be patient_

_all i ask… is this one thing_


	3. i'd have taken out your two grey eyes

_i miss you, love_

_**xx**_

The fallen star brings with him strange dreams.

Princess Sakura knows, never quite certain whether he means for her to pry, or if it is completely unintentional.

There is gold, stitched like thread to carpets' gloss and every colour imaginable that makes the life she lives her pale in comparison. The rainbow blinds her, saturated in sylphlike etherealness. The colours drench her dreams and soak her skin, and she is uncertain of what they mean. They are not prophecies, neither draped in ivory bones nor carved into its marrow; and they are not creations of the unconscious mind either.

She is not sure what they are, but she thinks that they mean _something._

Vividly, they capture her attention, in haughty hues that are stylized, that she cannot help but admire it, a smile on her bonny face.

A fairy tale, she could call it, one so pretty and elegant.

She wants to be in it.

_**xx**_

Sighing, one midnight, when she wakes from that recurring slumber, the Princess wonders why the nightingale sings so sweetly, perched outside her window. It is such a pretty melody, almost a shame that it only is heard during the night; yet if everybody heard it, wouldn't the nightingale's charm be lost?

It can be her secret, the Princess Sakura decides, entranced as try to approach the bird. She tries to float, to glide across the floor and not stumble — trying her best not to make a sound. Yet it is futile.

For it doesn't sing to her when she reaches the window, preferring to fly away while the breeze plays with the feathery wings. But Princess Sakura waits, remaining by the window, perchance another nightingale — not the lark — decides to serenade the night sky.

And as she waits, she catches sight of the strange boy with strange dreams.

He sits beside a fountain, illuminated by the lunar circle caught on star's web, moonbeams shining upon him; but he notices nothing but the water, shimmering and rippling.

Therein, this image, idyllic as it is isolated, is what spurs the Princess Sakura's impulse to befriend him.

_**xx**_

She does not mean to frighten him, but ultimately does.

Her hand brushes his shoulder, and, startled, he jumps, taken by surprise.

"I'm sorry! Are you alright?" Quickly, her words spill out too hastily, a jumble of nonsense that is too fast for his ears. Concerned, bashful, Sakura bites her lips, not intending to frighten him, and feeling all the more repentant for it. Averting her eyes from his, she begins to form an imaginary circle with her big toe on the ground. She tries again, in a slower tone. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that I… well, I saw you… looking out my window." She points to it, emphasizing that she spoke the truth and not a lie.

"Oh." Slowly, his mouth parts, and he stares at her, maintaining silence for a very long time. "I see."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"No, it's alright. I was surprised, that's all." His voice is… far more pleasant than she thought it would be. Honestly, she didn't know what his voice would be liked, but Sakura didn't think she'd like it _this _much.

Her face flushes, cheeks warming much too fast, as he surveys her, blue eyes memorizing her figure, capturing her essence and locking it in his memory for a rainy day.

"You're very pretty." He says simply. "I'm sure you'll be an excellent queen."

She smiles at that. Though she doesn't know why. His words are nice — perhaps that is reason enough.

"And you have an even prettier smile." The boy says, almost affectionately.

"Thank you." Her smile widens even more, and the tension and awkwardness is less tangible than before. "May I ask what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep." He admits to her, shyly; his eyes seem to glitter in a mischievous manner, and she remembers all those dreams — sweeping, glamorous, enchanting — and cannot help but grin in return. "My cure, I find, is to trace constellations." At her puzzled expression, he clarifies. "Ah, that is — marking stars."

"Is that what you did before?" Curious, the question is out before she realizes it.

"Yes." And his face flutters, the soft lines on his face changes into wistful nostalgia. "I did."

"Then…" Here, her face scrunches up, bemused, and the strange slender boy cannot restrain laughter — delicate, like china, the Princess thinks. She doesn't mind, she assures him. "… why were you looking at the water?"

His eyes blink slowly. Bemused, he asks her. "Is that odd?"

"… I don't know. I've never marked stars before. But… I think… if I were, then I wouldn't be looking at the water." Cautiously, she admits, somewhat beleaguered in this topic.

"Ah." Cheeks, once seashell pink, visible even in the night's luminance, fade. He grins impishly at her. "No, I suppose not. But it's fun if you do it this way."

"Oh?" Curious, she sits down beside him. "Show me."

When he grins at her, the Princess is surprised by its effect, taking her breath away.

The boy begins.

"Here, we have…"

_**xx**_

what are you waiting for? she asks, ever curious, ever inquiring.

he takes his time in answering.

the changeling child.

_**xx**_

"Fai? Is that your name?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"We've never been introduced. That's all."

"Then, I suppose, we must fix that, mustn't we?"

"I'll start. Hello, my name is Sakura."

"I'll continue. My name is Fai."

"It's nice to meet you." Simultaneously, they say, before laughing with each other.

They don't retire to their cotton swathed duvets, lingering on and basking in the moment, at that fountain, waiting for dawn to smother those sparkling orbs in a rosy wave.

The larks begin to sing.

_**xx**_

_come home soon_


	4. and put in eyes of clay

"Where are you from?"

Questions, questions, questions.

All of them are from her, in pure, unadulterated curiosity.

"Here and there, really."

"That's not an answer."

"No, I guess not. But it can't be, if I don't know either."

_**xx**_

Isn't it strange? How limbs lengthen and beauty magnifies. The mops of hair become glossier, the eyes brighten. Flushed cheeks become rosy in another accord. Litheness and grace become them, though there are moments of clumsiness that earns a teasing remark. A simple touch means a thousand different things. The skin darkens, and it is certain, it is not stirred by the sun. The sun sinks and rises, the nightingale and the lark exchange pleasantries, much like the dance between the butterfly and the moth.

Five years pass, dreamlike.

_**xx**_

"Why do they call me a fallen star?"

"Because you came here, really mysteriously. In fact, Fai, I think you still are quite mysterious."

"Oh? Surely not, I have nothing to hide from the Princess Sakura."

"You're not upset?"

"Upset? No. Merely… intrigued, my lady."

"Why?"

"Because… where I lived before… the term 'fallen star' meant something _quite_ different."

_**xx**_

He is liar, all can see. There is no harm in it, the citizens of Clow realize eventually. He does not lie openly, in fact, he barely lies at all. But he _must_ be a liar, most decide, if he remains so secretive about his past. What was he like before? Were there creatures of legend, where he lived before, like nymphs, dryads, or catfish? Elusively, he slips away from their questions, shying away with a change of subject, or an intake of water, forgetting the previous question as easily as breathing. He spends most of his time reading, when he does not entertain a certain princess.

Yet there is one thing he cannot hide, and that is to the pity of denizens of Clow, save the one who is oblivious.

_**xx**_

"Can you tell me a story, Fai?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You see, I love your stories."

"Alright then, Sakura, if you're certain. Which one would you like to hear about today?"

"Tell me more about the fay."

"Ah, the fay, known by others as elves; they have more names that are unknown to people like you and me. Some say, there is a queen…"

_**xx**_

It is better, they think, that she remains ignorant. There is bliss in this, after all.

The Princess Sakura is soon to be wed; and the husband shall not be the one she dotes upon.


	5. and had i known but yesterday

Pure white, the wedding dress fits her perfectly. Auburn hair shines, brimming in life and colour. Green orbs glaze, staring at the marionette who mirrors her puppetry in her reflection – the string is there, laced up in her bodice and cutting off the air she breathes. Yet she _does_ breathe, though she is not sure how.

Princess Sakura is to be wed.

Yet not to the fallen star of her choosing.

_**xx**_

heady, with the stench of jasmine, the queen with long legs and long arms, rolls, her hand still resting on her _(not) _rotting husband. he is still warm in her arms, because of her, beautiful eyes dark, and heavy. she will not leave him. _(she will never leave him)_

but she stares, through her mirrors, enchanted glass that were crafted from the tears of shallot. for she _is_ shallot, another name among many.

through her mirrors, she sees many things: a bride, a boy, a groom, a king, a crown, and all of it is _(hers, hers, hers)_ for the taking.

the elf queen, she waits.

she knows she does not have to wait longer.

_(and still the jasmine perfume dries on her ivory skin)_

_**xx**_

Fai walks the Princess Sakura to the altar, requesting this one thing. If he cannot do this one thing… then, how — how can he let her go?

He presses his mouth to her hair, her ear, the corner of her mouth, where her dimple should be — he imparts one kiss for the first and final time.

Reflectively, her grip tightens on him; and he must fight his own instincts and release her.

(only now does realize that he has grown too comfortable here, he realizes to his dismay. How can this be?)

For one fleeting glimpse, azure eyes dart to the groom — another 'fallen star', a bitter term in Fai's mind, when he remember such elaborate designs and catlike eyes and murmuring tones that are breathy in his ear.

He sees — and his heart stops.

_**xx**_

_what are you waiting for?_

_the changeling child_

_is here_


	6. you'd be no more my own

The wedding bells ring a heavy toll — long live the king, the king is dead — and where the Princess' lips stain blood, the changeling child stabs a knife in her father's heart.

The fallen stars now rise, the bride now captured.

_**xx**_

_echoes do not deserve to exist, after all_

selfishly, the elf queen thinks, moving the marionette of a corpse across her skin, worshipful of this touch _(such is the nature of the elf love)_. his locks of jet black hair sully with hers, mingling the tendrils of scent and sensory memory together; intertwining until there is no more 'him and her', but them, together, existing as one. like twins. entwined. intertwined. together. forever. this was how it was meant to be. before the death, the onslaught of crimson, the tainted knife, and jealous admirer.

the mirror showed her a pretty picture, her fallen star loving another fallen star; nearly forgetting the reason he went and left her; betraying his cursed heart.

_(but even then, he did not refuse. after all, he never learnt how.)_

_**xx**_

She is the queen, tall, willowy, slender. The best among the elves. The most beautiful and powerful and poisonous. Regal, she waits expectantly on her throne, greeting her guests — the bride and the groom and her pretty star — the key, the changeling child, and the love struck fool — staring at her, full of awe. She greets them with a half-smile.

"_hello."_ Gliding, her feet float, thighs barely letting the silk sheets rustle; and her elongated arms embrace them, dried blood on her right hand. _"you've given me quite a show, you know."_

The bride is confused — prettily dressed in white. The groom is emotionless — his task is over. The star gazes — in love and fear.

Once more, the elf queen flies to embrace her loyal subject, his honey dew hair, his sky blue eyes, wishing to remember his touch.

He was once hers too, albeit one she released only to see him return.

And he flinches away.

_**xx**_

_you remember right?_

_i was yours and you were mine?_

_**xx**_

His refusal hurts her, more than the queen expects, _(for no one refuses her)_, and in response, as she cradles his new and old face, her nail splices away a layer of vulnerable flesh — just a droplet of blood, so he does not flinch, he does not even realize — and with care, she licks away his wound. As if it was never there. As if he was never gone.

And when he looks at her, in wonder, in amour, she knows that he is hers once more. Whatever he felt for the simple bride is gone, for her name is scribbled out of his heart.

What remains is only loyalty to _her,_ the elf queen.

_**xx**_

_and now, _amethyst eyes cast themselves on the frightened girl, forced into this world, meant for this one task, _what shall i do with you?_


	7. i'd have taken out your heart of flesh

"Elf." The word stumbles out of her tongue before she realizes it — once she glimpses the pointy ears that slither out of the svelte lady, darker than midnight, dangerous and captivating and mystical. Emerald eyes blink, the familiarity of the situation striking her even now. She has been here before, waltzing these halls in glamour and bliss; she has dined and fed among them; she knows this place well — if only from a dream.

"Some have called me that, yes," She stands to her full height, proud, vain, broken, beautiful. _She is many things,_ Fai whispered in the hallways of Sakura's memory, _yet no word can aptly describe her._

And she understands — his past is not a mystery — freely, he had told her, in guise of a fairy story, something to comfort her at night, when the clouds ebbed with thunder, when the rain threatened to fall, when the climate was too hot. He told her his past, and she never knew.

"Fai!"

Curious, her head tilts to her friend, blank and empty, a puppet waiting with his strings; the queen regards him in wonder. "Is that his name?"

"He never told you?" Sakura cannot bring herself to believe it.

"I never asked." Simply, the queen replies, brushing locks of hair out his eyes. Such a pretty fallen star — a _human_ child — that is limp in her hands. "There was never a need."

_**xx**_

he drowns, in the sweetest perfume; drifting in wafts of jasmine.

yet a flash of emerald plagues him, though he does not know why.

_**xx**_

"Do you want him?" Though the queen, with her halo crown slipping, never directs her eyes at the Princess, it is clear that she is referring to the Princess Sakura. "You may keep him, if you like."

She says nothing, stunned, a little starry eyed.

"_After_ this one task, if you please."

_**xx**_

_beware, beware, the witching hour_

_the queen that traps maid in her tower_

_she wants, she waits, she lies, she baits_

_he twists, he turns, she will make him negate_

_**xx**_

"What will you have me do?"

"Only this: breathe my love to life."


	8. and put in one of stone

i don't understand. the small queen meekly says. breathe—

_bring my love to life. that's all i ask. only this._ she whispers, voice like velvet, like silk, like honey; she shall poison her with these false promises, if only to see her love rise once more.

i can't.

_you can._ slippery, her tongue hisses. jaded, her catlike eyes narrow. _you will._

_**xx**_

her hand _(claw like, talon like)_ flitters to her shoulders, threatening to break her skin with the lightest touch. she can do it _(she will)_.

she can feel her heartbeat beating, beating, beating, like the one in sleep wishes to have.

and if she refuses, the princess shall no longer have hers heart beating like acid, like bleach, disintegrating everything with heartbreak.

if the elf queen willed it, so it would be.

all the princess has to do is say _no._

_**xx**_

"Alright." Nervously, the Princess licks her lips, concerned at her fallen star — a foreigner — vacant and morose. His eyes are no longer bright, filled with adoration and — _oh._ "I'll try."

"_good." _The elf queen murmurs, dipping her head to meet her gaze eye to eye. _"thank you for acquiescing."_

Sakura says nothing.

_**xx**_

She is scared, completely stranded in unknown waters. She drowns, she must, because Sakura knows, that in this condition, she cannot swim.

All she wants is to go home. Maybe she can — if she does this.

Her breath freezes, stuck in her mouth, as she gazes at the corpse, known in a portrait keep in dust and called a relic. He is her ancestor, once upon a time; not in this world, but another.

Struggling, she approaches the elf king — hands trembling, palms sweating.

_**xx**_

_breathe_

_i n_

_breathe_

_o u t _

_**xx**_

_in_

king clow, at last, wakes up to queen yuuko.

if the blade from a scorned admirer did not strike them, that is — aiming for the heart, aiming for the kill.

_out_

_**xx**_

_together. forever._

_death will not part us._

_**xx**_

And Sakura runs, sensing the magic from the changeling child — not her _husband _— take hold of her, tangible on her skin, pressing her like feathers about to fly, scattered in the wind.

"Fai!" She cries out, searching for him, lost in the castle of ice. "Fai!"

_There _— she sees him, and reaches him — a doll like boy; and Sakura becomes his haunting of emerald green.

_**xx**_

_beware, beware_

"Fai!"

_the witching hour_

"Look at me! Can you… can you see me? It's me! Sakura!"

_the queen that traps the maid in her tower_

"You have to wake up, oh, _please, please, wake up!"_

_**xx**_

_she wants, she waits, she lies she baits_

(Didn't the elf queen promise? He was hers if the elf king came back to life?

He is _hers._)

_**xx**_

_he twists, he turns, she will make him negate_

He hands reach him, and it's only after his arms wrap around her tiny frame that he begins to change.

—he is a _snake_, slithering and scraping, fangs extended and longing to bite, slime and sweat and skin and bone, grazing and whispering for her to _let go, let go, just for a second_—

—and he is made of fyre; a ragdoll burning in her arms, shining brightly, blazing; he'll eat her clothes away and if _she let go, then she wouldn't be hurt_—

—a corpse, the exact same as Fai, with longer hair and deader eyes and broken limbs and broken bones, and if he is dead _she must let go, for only the elf queen who mourns, may keep her pretty human boy_—

Sakura holds on, regardless.

_**xx**_

When Fai wakes, the fragrance of jasmine no longer seeps into the air.

For the first time, he is free.

_**xx**_

There is no changeling child, the other fallen star that would be king.

There is only him, and her, at the altar, ready to be wed.

_**xx**_

Queen Sakura, gazing at King Fai, reaches out to him, smiling.

_**xx**_

**a/n.**___Hope you enjoyed. For kim-onka. _


End file.
